Light the Night with Fire and Flame
by Confusedrambler
Summary: "He would not rest until she was avenged and the Lady Death's lapdogs learned the folly of harming those that belonged to Loki." Divergent fic based on Dark World. Future Fem!Loki. Prompt: "When darkness comes I'll light the night with stars" (from 'Whispers in the Dark' by Skillet) Sent by Jem Kallop.


**AN: Hello all! I know I've been absent for a while now, but I *have* been diligently working on all I can. School is not very forgiving and neither is 'real life.'**

**Now, I've yet to foray into the Marvel fandom, but I couldn't help trying my hand at a Dark World fic. Now, as it's been a while since I've seen the movie I'm a bit fuzzy on some of the details. If there's anything glaringly wrong, I'd ask that you inform me & I'll do my best to conduct damage control. (Also, this will be a multi-chapter, so fair warning on that.)**

_**Please keep in mind that this story *will* contain spoilers for Dark World. Read at your own risk.**_

**Prompt: "When darkness comes, I'll light the night with stars" (Whispers in the Dark by Skillet; Jem Kallop)  
**

* * *

Loki knew not how much time passed since his incarceration. It was difficult to keep track of morn and eve when trapped underground, trapped within those cursed golden walls,_ trapped, trapped, trapped_ like a morsel spitted for the fire.

He carded trembling fingers through tousled hair, pressing himself further into _his_ corner of the room.

(It was all _his_, but it was also _theirs _and though they never graced this _prison_ with their _glorious presence_- he knew. He could feel their eyes upon him- always watching and waiting and he wouldn't give them the _satisfaction_ of seeing how far he'd fallen.)

So the Liesmith crafted his finest work yet and lived a lie within a lie within a_ lie._

* * *

Time passed- even for he who knew it not.

He wrapped himself in layers of magic so thick and well-crafted that even he had begun to believe the lie. He watched himself live out his sentence- like observing an insect under glass. His cell, once cramped and plain, was now open and welcoming, furnished in his favored style and colors while his shadow dressed and groomed just as he had been in the days _before, _unfazed and wholly competent; an illusion, a_ mask_ to befuddle any who might think to take advantage of his incarceration.

But when_ the creature_ appeared and the whole of Asgard _quaked_- he remembered. And he was afraid.

The world was stilled, the prisoners quelled, and an hour was long since past when the news was brought by a common foot soldier. Such an outburst of _magic_, such a tempest of horror and malice and _rage_ he had never felt before- no, not even when he fell from the Bifrost had such _desperation_ overcome him. The depths of emotion shook him so- his palace of lies collapsed, revealing his true self for an instant before the minuscule part of his mind not drowning in pure _emotion_ slammed the illusion back into place.

Even overwhelmed as he was, he knew.

_He_ could be watching. _He_ could have seen. It would serve no one, least of all himself, for _him_ to see Loki's true weakness. Loki knew that better than his own name, could still feel the importance of that fact engraved in his very soul.

If she had known, it would have shamed her.

He had been able to believe that she truly loved him, once. Even now, he couldn't deny that he still clung to that hope.

That love betrayed by another, his magic railed against the barriers and he swore to himself that he would not rest until she was avenged and the Lady Death's lapdogs learned the folly of harming those that belonged to Loki.

* * *

When _Odinson_ fetched him from the cells and Loki tasted freedom once more, he could not contain himself. His magic pulsed and writhed within him, eager to stretch to its utmost limit, to push against the boundaries of Yggdrasil once more. He shifted through illusions and shapes, relishing the sense of power and purpose that coursed through his veins, his flip tongue racing ahead- needling Thor, not-light-and-trickery-but-bone-and-blood _Thor. _

And if ever he were to have opportunity to keep his oath, the time was now.

He would cooperate with Odinson as long as necessary to ease her passage into the next life.

He would accomplish such _wonders_, bring such _wrath_ down on the heads of any who had part in the atrocity that Yggdrasil would shudder and bow under its weight.

And even at her place in the feasting halls of Valhalla, she would hear of his success and be shamed no more.

* * *

Even he did not anticipate the aftermath of this ruse.

He floundered in his mind, scouring his memory for an incantation to halt the flow of blood, though part of him basked in the knowledge that the Kursed was certainly dead. Odinson is with him then, crouching over him, touching him, words falling too fast for him to understand.

And while Odinson fretted, Loki's mind offered up a spell, an _idea,_ and he'd be a _fool_ to pass up this opportunity. It would require more magic than was at his disposal but that was easily solved. And though the very thought of what he was about to do was _intolerable_, the aftermath would only make the trickery more convincing.

So Loki pulled at the one illusion left to him. The bitter taste of Odin's magic curled his tongue, the _wrongness_ of swallowing down _Allfather's_ power, of committing yet another taboo tore apologies from his throat, and he hoped she could forgive him for committing such an atrocity in her name.

The warmth of his skin leached away and barbaric patterns snaked across his flesh, prompting even Odinson to recoil in horror. But Loki had no time to indulge his own disgust. Instead he stilled his breath and_ wove_, twisting skeins of magic into illusion and flesh and creeping cold. So involved was he in this that he scarcely had the presence of mind to notice his success and Odinson's departure.

He knotted the threads of power together, tying off the spell and marveling, as he always did, at the feel of newly-grown flesh, the peculiar sensation of being encased in a cocoon of his own making. He gave himself but a moment to gather his wits and breath again and then he rose out of the grotesque imitation of his corpse- still and encased in frost. Strange to see himself from the outside in such a state. Stranger still to see his Jotun corpse sending frost to creep across the desert planet.

He thought it fitting that _Loki Laufeyson_ would meet his end here.

Under an open sky with none but the souls of those departed to see, Loki- Odinson, Laufeyson, Liesmith, Trickster, Silvertongue, God of Mischief- cast off his name and form to create himself anew, modeled himself after an oath so _sacred_ that even the Norns would not dare to interfere.

And so Tyr Friggsdottr was born.


End file.
